


Heartbeat in My Mind

by kiminsocks



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: AU after Ultron, Don't copy to another site, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Steve and Tony sitting in a bar, alcohol consumption, and everyone lives happily ever after, but both parties are happy and willing, fade to black sex scene, k-i-s-s-i-n-g, kind of, nightclubs, seriously, then making out then sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 10:03:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19171039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiminsocks/pseuds/kiminsocks
Summary: Tony comes to visit the compound after leaving the team following Ultron and Sokovia. He convinces Steve to come out drinking with him.Dark Club plus Alcohol plus UST equals... you guessed it! Feelings. (sorry not sorry)





	Heartbeat in My Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Have some Steve/Tony love. <3
> 
> Title from Rihanna's "We Found Love".

It’s not that Steve doesn’t like having fun. He does.

 

He used to love going to baseball games with Thor; it was always entertaining trying to explain the rules of the sport to an alien prince who tends to expect more violence and bloodshed in his friendly competitions. Steve enjoys team dinners, though he could do without seeing the half-chewed food in Clint’s mouth during dinner-time debates, and the inevitable food fights that break out. He likes hanging out with Sam and Natasha after training sessions, walking down by the lake and shooting the shit. He even goes out sometimes with Clint to the dive bar a few miles south, in the nearest small town, and Steve watches him kick all the locals’ ass at darts until they get frustrated and refuse to play against him again (at least until the next time, because surely he’s not _that_ good, they were pretty drunk after all). Natasha and Sam join them more often than not, and sometimes even Rhodey tags along, and it’s a good time all around.

 

Steve has fun.

 

So he doesn’t get it when Tony asks him out on the town and immediately follows it with an eye roll and says, “Why am I even asking you? You don’t know how to have fun.”

 

Granted, Steve’s idea of fun isn’t exactly the same as Tony’s, so maybe he’s right in assuming that Steve doesn’t want in on this particular adventure, but Steve’s still a little miffed at the implication that he’s a grumpy, boring old man. He may have come out of the ice a different person, but that doesn’t mean he’s a complete wet blanket.

 

Tony had come up to the compound yesterday, swirling in like a hurricane, talking about improvements in the training rooms and adding another wing to house more quinjets, and Steve was glad to see him, even if Tony seemed slightly more manic than usual. He found out later that Tony’d been having some kind of trouble with the board at SI, and that Rhodey told him to come up for the weekend, get some fresh air. Rhodey said the fact that Tony didn’t even argue with him shows how much he needed the break.

 

They’d had dinner last night together, the whole group of them, and Steve was honestly glad to see Tony again. It’s the first time he’s seen him since he left after Ultron a couple of months ago, and while the new team has started to mesh, it’s not the same. There was something young and innocent and familial about the first Avengers team, all living in the tower together, and Steve knows Tony played a huge part in that.

 

Sometimes he feels like he burned a bridge with Tony, that maybe he pushed it just a little too far with some of the things he said. After all, there was no scepter to blame his words on this time, no shell-shock from having just been pulled out of the ice and shoved into a battle situation with little warning. But Tony’s always brushed it off, acted like his retirement from the team was something he’d been planning on doing anyway, and that he and Steve are fine.

 

They’re just not partners anymore.

 

Steve returns from his run on Saturday morning and showers before he heads straight to Tony’s lab. Normally he’d be in the gym until about lunchtime, lifting and training and studying team stats, but that’s when Tony doesn’t come up from the city for the first time in months.

 

There’s always been an edge to their friendship, his and Tony’s. They co-led the team together well, Tony’s futurism and Steve’s strategic mindset blending together seamlessly. They fought like a unit since day one, when the world was at risk of an alien invasion and they were told to get their shit together or lose. But off the battlefield and away from the team it was different. It’s like they co-existed in the same space but lived in different worlds. Tony was just a little too bitter, and Steve was just a little too judgmental. They never quite got each other on a personal level the way they did when they were suited up.

 

But Steve missed him. He felt his absence every time he walked into the training room and there was no smart-assed comment to greet him. Felt it when he woke up in the middle of the night, mind churning with memories of ice and trains and Bucky, and he went into the kitchen for a glass of milk and there was no sleep-deprived genius tapping his fingers impatiently while the coffee machine percolated, eyes focused on something far away. He missed Tony’s infuriating chatter on the comms, and he really missed seeing the red and gold soar through the skies overhead, knowing Iron Man has his back.

 

So he heads to the lab after his run, coffee in one hand and a stack of pancakes in the other, because he’s willing to bet that Tony hasn’t eaten since he woke up (that is, if he slept at all).

 

There’s the requisite snarking and teasing, and Tony downs the coffee, and Steve manages to get one pancake into him before Tony’s back at his workstation, reinventing the future in ways only he can.

 

He’s complaining about the board and whatever it is that they’ve done to make his and Pepper’s life harder, his movements getting jerkier with each sentence, until he slams a palm flat on the table in front of him and turns to face Steve, eyes bright.

 

“I want to go out. I wanna get trashy, Rogers. Have you ever been white-girl wasted?”

 

Steve’s about to respond something along the lines of _Do you think that’s such a good idea?_ when Tony interrupts him, laughing sharply.

 

“Why am I even asking you? You don’t know how to have fun.” And it’s like before, when Tony’s jokes were just a little too pointed and Steve took everything just a little too personally, and Steve forgets that he’s supposed to have grown out of this. He takes it as a challenge.

 

“Sounds like fun,” he says, and he ignores the little part of his mind that tells him he’s being an idiot, that this is a terrible idea.

 

Tony does a bit of a double-take, eyes wide and surprised, before he grins. “Oh Captain, this is going to be so much fun,” he says, and Steve knows he’s in trouble.

 

….

 

Tony quickly finishes what he’s doing in the lab and closes it down before turning back to give Steve his full attention. “Okay,” he says, clapping his hands together once, sauntering over toward Steve. “First things first: Do you have clothes?”

 

Steve huffs, and before he can get a word out Tony cuts in. “Khakis don’t count, grandpa. Neither do slacks. You know what, forget it, I’ll get you clothes, if you want it done right you have to do it yourself,” he says, muttering the last bit to himself, pulling out his phone.

 

Steve feels a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth and wrestles it back down. He puts on his sternest look. “I do have clothes that aren’t khakis, Tony,” he says, voice mild.

 

“News to me,” Tony retorts. Steve looks up at the ceiling and sighs.

 

“Will it make you feel better if I get Natasha’s approval first? She can go through all my clothes and pick something that meets your standards.”

 

He doesn’t need Tony buying him exorbitantly priced clothes just so they can go to some fancy nightclub. He has clothes. Natasha had taken him shopping a while back after learning of his limited wardrobe when they were still with SHIELD, when she’d been trying to set him up on blind dates with various co-workers. She was adamant that they “modernize” his style, from his hair to his wardrobe to his footwear.

 

Tony eyes him suspiciously. Steve rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest.

 

Tony hmphs. “Fine. Fine! But tell Itsy Bitsy that we’re going clubbing and you’re supposed to look hot. Nothing ironed allowed,” Tony says, heading back to his workstation now that he’s deemed the clothing issue resolved.

 

Steve snorts and is on his way out the door when Tony calls out behind him.

 

“And don’t shave!” Steve looks back at him, eyebrow raised, rubbing his prickly cheeks self-consciously. “We’re not undercover, but we don’t exactly want to be mobbed all night either. Keep the scruff. Plus, five o’clock shadow is super sexy nowadays!” With that, Tony shoos him away and Steve heads out to find Natasha.

 

….

 

“Wow, Cap, you clean up nice.”

 

Tony whistles appreciatively when Steve meets him in the foyer at 8 that evening. Natasha had picked out a dark blue henley (that Steve feels might be one size too small but that Natasha assured him fits him perfectly) with the sleeves pushed up to the elbows, and a pair of dark gray jeans with sleek black shoes. His hair is styled slightly messier than normal, and, as Tony had requested, he’d left the stubble on his face alone.

 

Steve takes a minute to look the other man up and down. Tony’s wearing tight blue jeans and a plain black v-neck t-shirt that looks like it’s softer than Steve’s sheets, and a form-fitting black blazer over it with an inner lining that flashes gold every time he moves. He’s completed the look with a black fedora and black and red Jordans.

 

“Not so bad yourself, Stark,” Steve says, smiling. Maybe this will be fun. He won’t be able to enjoy it the same way Tony will, but he can keep Tony company when he obviously needs to blow off a little steam. And he can always leave when he’s had enough; Tony’s a grown man and certainly doesn’t need Steve as an annoyingly sober chaperone.

 

Tony takes them into the city. It’s a decently long drive, but time passes relatively quickly. Tony chats incessantly about SI and asks about the team and how training is coming along and they’re bouncing ideas off of each other like no time has passed at all and they’re still living in the tower discussing training tactics and strengths and weakness. Steve’s missed this companionship with Tony, and he thinks maybe Tony missed it too, judging by the way his face lights up as he talks. He’s smiling a lot, and when he’s not Steve can still see it in his eyes, the crows feet at the corners.

 

They get into the city in record time and Tony takes them into a neighborhood Steve’s not familiar with, pulling into a packed parking lot just after 10 pm. He drops the Audi off at the valet stand, where an attendant takes the keys with what Steve is sure is an enormous tip.

 

More money changes hands as Tony talks their way to the front of the line and past the bouncer, and as they walk into the club, nobody stops them to ask for a picture, so Steve guesses they’ve done at least a half-decent job at disguising themselves. Once they get inside, he decides they should be safe from being recognized for the rest of the night, with the lighting in the place dim as it is.

 

The club is large, two stories, with three bars on the bottom floor alone. The second story acts like a wide balcony along the edges of the building, with more, smaller bars and couches for seating. The center is open down to the ground floor, where an oversized dance floor sits, already crowded with bodies moving to the music.

 

Tony takes them to the left, up a small set of stairs to a raised corner area on the ground floor that is roped off from the rest. Of course, even when he doesn’t want to be recognized, Tony gets them VIP access, Steve thinks.

 

There are two couches in their little area positioned around a small table, which holds a bucket of ice, two glasses, and what’s probably very expensive scotch.

 

Tony sprawls bonelessly across one couch, legs askew and head thrown back, and leaves Steve to settle on the other. The music is loud, the bass line so deep Steve can feel it pulsing throughout his entire body along with the beat of the music. People push through the crowds to reach the bars, waiting in line for overpriced cocktails, but they’re removed from it in their little corner. Steve can’t relax, exactly, but he is glad that Tony decided on the VIP section, for his paranoia’s sake at the very least.

 

Tony sits up and pours himself a drink with a heavy hand, then pours Steve a smaller one. Steve’s about to tell him not to waste his money when Tony pulls a flask out from an inside pocket of his flashy blazer and tops off the drink with a clear liquid before handing it to Steve with a wink.

 

“To Asgardian liquor,” Tony shouts across at him, and it takes Steve a second before he puts two and two together. He clinks his glass against Tony’s and takes a large swallow of the Asgardian-scotch cocktail. The Asgardian liquor is nearly tasteless, so Steve’s able to appreciate the smokey flavor of the expensive scotch Tony ordered. It’s exciting, in a way, to be able to drink with someone and know that his drink is having the same effect on him as theirs is on them.

 

The drinks go down easier and faster than Steve expected them to. It’s been a long time since he was able to let loose, like he’s just another guy in a club looking for a good time. Tony’s loose, soft looking, laughing easily when he leans across to talk to Steve about something or other. Steve’s having a decent time himself. He’s surprised to find that it’s been over fifteen minutes since he last checked the exits, and while part of him worries that he’s letting his guard down too much, another part of him tells him to shut up, stop worrying, and have some fun.

 

It’s past midnight when Tony decides he wants to dance. He stands and pulls at Steve’s arm, and Steve laughs and bats him away. “You go! Go have fun. I’ll hold down the fort,” Steve tells him, and Tony throws his hands up exaggeratedly and heads out toward the dance floor, pulling his hat low over his eyes.

 

Steve pulls out his phone and sees he has a message from Natasha.

 

10:54 pm: _Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do._

 

He smiles, then types a reply.

 

12:24 am: _I don’t know if that’s really the best advice, but thanks._

 

Steve leans back into the couch, sinking into the cushions. A couple of times a waitress stops by to see if he needs anything. He asks for a water once, but only has a sip before he’s back to nursing his Asgardian cocktail. He almost doesn’t want to let this feeling go, of being carefree, almost invincible. It’s been so long since he’s been good and drunk, and he’s on his way there tonight.

 

He looks out over the heads of the crowd toward the dance floor, searching for Tony. His clothes make him difficult to find, all black in a dimly lit club, but Steve’s super soldier eyes are sharp enough to pick him out. Tony’s near the edge of the dance floor, drink in hand, leaning in to talk into the ear of a tall woman in a short red dress with legs for days. Steve feels a pang of irritation; Tony brought him here, why isn’t he talking to Steve? Is Steve too boring? Does he come with too much baggage? Would Tony rather hit it off with some woman he doesn’t even know than spend time with his ex-teammate? Then why not come alone? Why drag Steve here with him?

 

He sees Tony gesture up towards their seating area and turns away, looking up toward the deejay booth. The music has been a steady stream of thumping, electronic beats, and while Steve would never listen to it in his spare time, with the alcohol coursing through his veins he doesn’t hate it. It almost makes him want to move with it.

 

He’s contemplating what exactly Asgardian liquor is made of when he sees Tony approaching with his new friend and what’s most likely her wing-man. The woman in red is pretty, prettier than Steve expected, which makes him feel like a bit of a punk, judging someone before he’s even met them. Tony holds up the velvet rope that separates their area from the rest of the club and lets them both duck underneath before following.

  
The friend and Tony settle on the other couch, while the woman in red sits down next to Steve and reaches out to touch his shoulder, leaning in to speak into his ear. She smells like vodka and floral perfume, and her voice is sultry and deep, with the tiniest hint of an eastern European accent.

 

“Tony tells me you need to loosen up,” she says. Her hand slides off his shoulder and down his chest, fingers dipping slightly inside where his shirt falls open. “I can help you with that,” she murmurs, and Steve is impressed. He doesn’t think a lady has ever come on to him this strong before, and while it’s not exactly a turn off (he’s always loved a woman who knows what she wants), it’s not something he’s looking for tonight.

 

He twists slightly so that her hand falls away, turning to look directly at her.

 

“You’re a beautiful woman, ma’am, and I’m flattered,” he says, smiling. She takes the hint graciously and smiles back before standing up.

 

“Well, if you change your mind, handsome, you know where to find me,” she says, before taking her friend by the arm and pulling her back to the dance floor.

 

“Cap, buddy, pal. I don’t know how much easier I can make this for you,” he hears Tony say next to him. Steve pulls himself up from his lounging position, shirt stretching across his chest as he leans forward and rests his forearms on his knees. His head sags a bit, and he must be a little drunker than he thought, but it’s a good feeling, he likes it. He looks up at Tony.

 

“That’s not what I’m here for, Tony,” he says, and he doesn’t know what exactly he’s trying to say.

 

Tony pauses, eyes narrowing. “What are you here for, Steve?” he asks slowly.

 

Steve doesn’t answer. Tony looks at him, assessing, eyes far too sharp for how many drinks he’s had. Then he stands suddenly and takes a step toward Steve, reaches a hand out.

 

Steve takes it. Lets Tony pull him up and then down the stairs, across the club and to the dance floor, lit up by flashing lights and crammed with hot, sweaty bodies.

 

Steve doesn’t dance. He attempted to learn how to dance a few years ago, when he was first out of the ice, learned the steps to some of the old dances from his day, and a couple of the more modern ones that he missed while he was frozen. But what passes for dancing today is completely beyond his comprehension. It’s less dancing and more grinding, thrusting, almost sex with clothes on in public places.

 

He has no idea what Tony expects him to do here.

 

Tony pulls him along, fingers linked tightly, until they’re somewhere near the middle of the dance floor. The song playing is upbeat, and the strobe lights are going crazy, flashing and swinging and changing colors at a rapid pace along with the beat of the song. The bass is even stronger out here, thumping in his chest like it’s going to burst him open. He would have a hard time hearing Tony now even with his super-powered hearing if he tried to speak to him, but Tony doesn’t seem to want to talk.

 

He pulls Steve closer and starts moving to the beat, body swaying. Steve doesn’t know where to put his hands, and Tony must notice, because he grabs them and puts them on his hips, then puts his own in the air over his head, still moving to the music.

 

His eyes close as he dances, movements somehow both sporadic and graceful, and as the lights flash across his face, hat tipped precariously over his forehead, Steve is struck by how beautiful he is. He’s never thought of Tony that way, known objectively that he was attractive, handsome even. But when he looks at him now he’s rendered speechless.

 

Tony’s dark eyelashes fan against his cheeks, his cheekbones sharp in the shadows. His lips curl up at the corners and Steve suddenly wonders what they feel like, how they taste, how they would move underneath his own.

 

He slides his hands up the sides of Tony’s body to his waist, framing his ribcage on both sides, pulling him closer. Tony opens his eyes and Steve’s lost, feels like he’s drowning in that rich, deep brown. He’s filled with wonderment at the man in front of him, in his arms, in awe of his power and his confidence and blown away by what this man can do, what he’s capable of, in and out of the suit. How much genius is contained in this one human body, how fragile it is, how magnificent. He wonders how he’s never seen this before, then he thinks that he has, of course he has. Tony’s always been exceptional.

 

“Tony,” he says, and his voice doesn’t make it as far as Tony’s ears, but he knows Tony heard him all the same. Tony’s eyes flicker between his, back and forth, and his arms come down to settle on Steve’s shoulders, bracketing his head. The music is blaring, saying something about finding love in hopeless places, and Steve feels like this is exactly where he’s meant to be in this moment, in a dark club with loud music and confetti streaming from the ceiling and Tony Stark in his arms.

 

One of Tony’s hands slides down to cup his cheek, then moves further, fingernails catching lightly on his stubble, making him shiver. His fingertips come to rest on Steve’s bottom lip, pulling gently until his mouth is open the tiniest bit. Tony’s eyes are locked on Steve’s, and he must find what he’s looking for because the next moment his fingers are falling away and he’s pushing up on his tiptoes and pressing his lips to Steve’s.

 

Steve thinks Tony’s lips must be the softest thing he’s ever felt in his entire life. He pulls Tony closer, presses the smaller body up against his own, and he feels more than hears Tony groan before Tony’s opening his mouth to Steve, allowing his tongue entry.

 

His eyes have fallen shut but he can still see the strobing lights through his lids, can still feel the music pulsating through his body, their bodies. The kiss goes on for a long time, both men learning each other in ways they never thought possible. Hands explore chests and backs damp with sweat, bodies pressed so closely together Steve doesn’t know where he ends and Tony begins. Tony loses the hat at some point but neither of them cares. Tony’s kissing his ear, his chin, the v of his neck, and Steve throws his head back, eyes still shut tight, reveling in the feel of it. His arms have wound so tightly around Tony’s body he’s slightly worried he may be making it difficult for the other man to breathe, but Tony’s not complaining so he doesn’t let go. He never wants to let go.

 

It’s minutes, hours, an eternity before they break apart slowly. They’re both panting, and Steve rests his forehead against Tony’s, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, then another.

 

“Come home with me,” Steve says, lips pressed underneath Tony’s ear, mouthing at his skin. _Stay with me,_ he means. _Don’t leave me again._

 

Tony turns, seeking out his lips, breathing out a soft “yes” into Steve’s mouth.

 

….

 

The compound is too far. Tony has a driver pick them up and take them back to the tower. There’s a lot of touching and kissing in the backseat, and when they finally make it up to the penthouse they tumble straight into Tony’s bed.

 

They make love.

 

At least, that’s what Steve likes to think they did. He remembers kissing Tony’s skin, drinking in the sight of him, the epiphany of realizing that this man is all he’s wanted since he woke up in this century. It had been buried beneath overwhelming grief, simmering anger, misplaced duty. The admiration, though, the affection… That’s always been there.

 

Steve remembers Tony’s eyes shining in the dim light of the bedroom. Remembers the sounds he made as Steve breeched his body, gasping and moaning in pleasure. Remembers the whispered words, “Steve” and “baby” and “please”. Remembers the soft kisses Tony peppered on his chest afterwards, the way he ran his fingers through Steve’s sweaty hair, the way he curled up against him before he fell asleep.

 

He wakes up first the next morning, pulling himself out of a sleep so deep and restful he almost doesn’t want to open his eyes. He floats a little bit longer in the area between sleep and wakefulness, not wanting to break the spell. He can feel Tony’s arms wrapped around him from behind, his face pressed into Steve’s shoulder blades, warm breath ghosting over his skin.

 

Steve takes a deep breath, rolls over within the circle of Tony’s arms. Tony blinks slowly and smiles softly when he sees Steve’s face so close to his. He has pillow creases up his left cheek, sleep in his eyes, his hair is tousled in a way that is clearly not intentional, and Steve’s never seen anything so lovely.

 

He feels like he’s going to burst with the sheer volume of love he has for this man.

 

He doesn’t hold it in this time. “Come back,” he says, voice husky with sleep. “Please. Come back to me."

 

Tony’s smile quirks a little bit to one side. “You can’t afford me,” he says, eyes twinkling.

 

Steve snorts, rolls his eyes. “Tony.”

 

Tony’s quiet for a minute, thinking, and then he leans in to peck Steve on the lips.

 

“Alright,” Tony said, voice soft and eyes serious. “But only if you keep the beard.”


End file.
